


Cataglottism

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: V always has trouble reconciling your fragility with your strength. (V x reader; gender neutral)
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Cataglottism

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, another request.
> 
> This one is...okay, I'll say it right out, it's odd and very self indulgent. The actual request was not worded "reader and V" but " _you_ and V", so the reader insert, while not gendered and only sort of described outright, is super heavily based on my own self. (And yes, I really _am_ that alarmingly breakable-but-not in my day to day life.) That said, I understand if no one ends up liking this one, you do you.
> 
> Requested by furyeclipse, who will probably never request anything of me again at this rate. :P

_**Cataglottism** \- Kissing with tongue._

* * *

V is by now used to the myriad noises you make doing the most mundane things, the huffs of effort and the purse-lipped grumbles whenever you move in specific ways, and he's mostly learnt to tune them out, recognising them subconsciously as something not to be overly concerned about - you're a grown adult, after all, and you wouldn't have made it this many years without developing your own coping methods, an exercise in near futility that he can appreciate the sheer effort of thanks to his own experiences. You're strong, not just physically but mentally as well, and he's more often than not found himself thinking he could take a few lessons from you, to emulate your grit and determination and sheer dogged persistence (though maybe with less cursing; you're not really known for censoring yourself), though he never says it out loud to your face because he knows you don't see it the way he does. You just see it as life, as a plain old everyday thing, and no amount of convincing will get you to see it as anywhere near extraordinary--

An almighty crashing thud sounds, followed by your voice; "I swear I didn't break anything! On me or the table!"

\--Well, maybe you're right that it isn't, on occasion.

He sighs, puts his book down and trudges down the hall to see just what it is you've done this time, finding you in your room and halfway wedged underneath your bedside table, apparently trying to retrieve whatever it is you'd managed to knock down with such utter _force_ \- and he can't help but look baffled when you extricate yourself with nothing more than a stack of ragged notebooks in your hands, nearly dropping them again with a squawk when you sit upright to discover him there. "Told you I didn't break anything--" you huff, shove the notebooks into his hand when he reaches out as if to help you up and clamber to your feet unassisted, dusting cobwebs from your shirt and grimacing a little when they stick to your fingers. "I just knocked those down trying to grab one. Why's the one I want always on the bottom - anyway," you grin a little now, sheepishly, take the notebooks from him and set them down, folding your hands behind your back and looking up at him in a pose of cheeky satisfaction, the one that always gets his hackles up a little in a pleasant way. (Especially when you're half undressed, shirt and underwear all you've got on in preparation for bed, and _gods_ that is appealing.) "Thanks, though. For making sure I hadn't irreparably mangled myself. Y'know, amputated something at the neck, or - something like that."

"You make it sound as though you have more than one thing," V responds dryly, "to...amputate at the neck, as you put it."

You quirk an eyebrow, doing your best to look innocent even as you tease him. "You mean I don't?"

"Mm...no. I only see the one." He reaches out, wraps a hand round the back of said neck, tugging you a little bit closer as if to investigate and of course you don’t resist him - you never do. "One set of shoulders, perfectly colour matched to the neck they're attached to, assuming my eyes don't fail me. Or do they?"

"Even if they did, you'd probably just have been blinded by the fact I almost glow in the dark." You shrug, nonchalant about your own ghastly pale complexion, never mind that you know anyone who doesn't know you well would consider you to look downright sickly. "And hey, if I actually did, that'd be kinda neat - I wouldn't need a flashlight or a nightlight, could just be my own light source - don't laugh at me! It _would_ be handy," you're now pretending to bristle defensively, even though you're grinning at the snort of laughter he couldn't quite stifle. "If you're gonna laugh, do something better with that mouth, huh?"

He hums amusement, leans in a little, wetting his lips in a way blatantly meant to draw your eye. "I could say the same to you. Wouldn't you much rather do something other than flailing metaphorically at me?"

"Bastard," you accuse him in a hiss, but you're stretching up to meet him, your arms wrapping about his shoulders as his lips touch yours, demanding you open up for him with an immediate swipe of tongue that you naturally don't even consider disobeying.

Your mouth is hot, a little bitter; you taste of exhaustion and pills, a sobering reminder that you're not nearly as invincible as you try to play yourself off as, and he finds himself holding you tighter, pulling you closer, wrapping you in arms that try to shield you from the cruelties of the world and your own existence - there may not be _much_ of anything he can do to mitigate the pain and fatigue that comes with just making it through your daily life, but he knows he can at least be a distraction for a little while, and he also knows that's something you _do_ genuinely appreciate so he’s more than happy to do it, coaxing your tongue into eager movement against and around his own and feeling you melt into him more and more with each passing second. Honestly, at times like this he thinks he understands what exactly it is you feel, wanting to forget your own mortality, your own weakness - and right now, _he_ wants to forget it too, to drive out that bitterness on your tongue and replace it with the much more pleasant taste of _him_.

He's not going to leave you be until he's done that, even if it's just for a small, ephemeral while.

"Lay down," he breathes, parting from you just enough to speak, and it's all he can do to keep going and not just lose himself in you when you groan in soft frustration, the tip of your tongue poking out to chase his own, a thin string of saliva glistening in the air between them for the single instant before it breaks. "Clothes off. The faster you do it, the sooner I kiss you again--"

"You and your goddamn hard bargains." But you aren't disobeying in the least, nearly throwing yourself onto the bed and eeling out of your clothes almost impossibly quickly, reaching for him with shaky hands as he also strips and settles close. "Now _kiss me_ , you jerk, and don't you dare stop."

"Anything for you," he promises, and means it, as he once more captures your mouth, plundering it with his greedy tongue in a promise of things to come.

By the time he's done with you, he can't taste the pills any more; all he can taste is you, the best drug of all.


End file.
